Residuals

I wonder these days about hauntings.

To be honest, I've never thought about hauntings much -- I grew up knowing they happen. It's only recently that I've been wondering about the details and operation of the act of haunting.

I want to think that Rex is somewhere else, healthy, happy, unworried. For all my loneliness and lostness, I don't want him to be lingering here, taking care of me/us/things. I want him to be at peace.

That said, spirit or not, something of him does linger here,
Every room is infused with his presence.
Especially this front room where he spent all his time the last months of his life.

There's a concept, in paranormal circles, of residual haunting.
The definition is something like a recording that plays, over and over. A lot of legendary ghosts seem to be residuals. They do the same things, say the same things, are in the same places, time after time. All the white ladies gliding down stairways (even, in some cases, when the stairway is no longer in that part of the room). All the Weeping Widows wandering the garden paths. Crying babies and angry men. Sounds of swords clashing and battleaxes slashing on a peaceful sunny day.

Some are video recordings, some are audio only.

There's a presence here, Rex's presence. It is impressed upon the house; imbued into the walls.
Now this may be true only for me or for us. When we go, so may that presence.
(And then we will know a different measure of loss and loneliness, but that's another topic for another day.)

I think I can live with this.
I think his presence can be here, while his spirit is not.
Just as his voice or his image could be on a recording. (If I had any. My little  recluse.)
Playing the recording would not mean he was here, just that he had been.




I just hope I am right about it.

"Nobody Warned Us"

There was a (dubious) news report out of Washington State that survivors of the massive landslide were commenting and complaining that they had never been told a landslide could happen.

 I call it dubious, first of all, because those people are still busy looking for loved ones, looking for beloved things.
Secondly, they are in shock and deep, deep grief, so that nothing said at this time should be reported as anything other than mourning. Not responsible journalism. (If such a thing still exists.)
Third, the statement just screams "Lawyer"! Not just lawyer, but the worst kind of lawyer: the ambulance-chasing, you-can-make-me-a-lot-of-money type of lawyer.

God help the survivors, the vultures are already circling, greedy claws extended.

No doubt, eventually, this will make it to the courts as a liability issue. Survivors will be looking to place blame. That's something very human of them.
No doubt some judge somewhere will think it should be heard, in defiance of all common sense.

Some building statements that shouldn't need to be made:
1) If you build on a hill or cliff or anywhere "UP" everything can fall "down."
2) Oceanfront property is susceptible to hurricanes
3)Other waterfront property is susceptible to flooding.
4)There may be water shortages in desert areas.
5)Water shortage areas will be susceptible to fire.
6)Anywhere that lightning strikes there could be fires.
7)Tornadoes can happen anywhere.
8) There is no such thing as "solid" earth.  The earth is liquid -- sometimes water, sometimes melted rock. Even the continents are on the move; afloat.

Just a few things to think about before you buy or build anything anywhere.
It shouldn't require an ambulance chaser, a political prosecutor, or a publicity seeking judge to air foolishness, stupidity, and naivete before the whole world.

Let them heal.
Help them struggle.
Neither money nor blame will replace what they've lost, and lost forever. Don't make them think it might.

Changing Things

It's time for changes. I can't keep going on.
 can't do as I've been doing.
I just can't.

Everyone expects too much of me, and I try to go along because being all things to all people has been how I've tried to live my life.
Now, when I say "I can't" or "I don't" they don't hear me.

No one anywhere hears me.
In offices.
On the telephone.
Even on Facebook.
No one hears.

Not too many steps away from "no one's here," is it?

I have an outline idea of what I'm going to do and where I'm going to go. It is vague at this time.
I only know changes need to be made and I am taking the steps to make them.

suttee.

It all makes sense now.

Life and Love and Other Things

I have been trying to write of other things than my own problems. I don't want this blog to be a whining moaning list of things to complain about. I don't want it to be a pity party for me. I don't want it to be about me, specifically.

I want it to be about life in general. Politics, social media, diet, religion, education, children and grandchildren -- all the things that make up the array of things we grapple with from day to day. That's what I want.

For now, I can't seem to think beyond my own life-box. 

I'm stuck and I can't seem to move beyond these limitations.

Someday I will, I'm sure. 

Someday, I'll live again, love again, have opinions again, and I'll re-find my writer's voice.

Someday.

That day isn't yet.

I have many beginnings of ideas, thoughts, concepts to discuss. A recent facebook discussion inspired an article about the education system. But it remains unwritten, as headaches and busy-ness and the visitation of the demon build up walls faster than I can build windows. 

And forget about doors! There's no time for doors. 

The important thing is to keep a little light coming into this thick and sturdy box.

Why keep writing, then?

Well, that is the best way to poke holes in the wall and let a little light in.

Also, there may be someone out there that needs to read something like this.

Someone who needs to know there can be light in darkness.

Someone who needs to know that tears can cleanse as well as burn.

Someone who needs to know how someone else navigates the pitfalls of an empty life.

Someone who needs to know about hope, and choices, and giving up.

Someone who needs to know that, in spite of it all, there remains life, and love, and other things.

Blessed, Beautiful Balancing Sleep

I have been sleeping a lot the last couple of weeks. It's so much better than dozing and waking. It's a wonderful place to be, asleep. No worries, no demands, no unsolvable problems to solve. Just being.

Not that there are no problems in the sleep  world. There are.

In the lovely half-worlds between awake and asleep, and between asleep and awake, there are many many things. Thoughts, memories, wishes realized, dreams not dead, stories to be told unrolling.
Punishments exacted for sins known to the dreamer, be it willful, accidental, or circumstantial sinning.

But at least the dreamer knows.
Unlike life, or a so-called loving god, in the dream state of partially self-inflicted tortures, the dreamer knows what the punishment is for. Knows the why. Knows the how. Knows the when and where. Even knows that the way to end it is to rouse to wakefulness.

There is something soothing in knowing why pain is inflicted.
There is something beautiful in punishment balancing sin, even when the so-called sin was minor and the punishment is angry and excessive.
There's a reason for it.

In waking life, there is no reason.
There is no why, no explanation, no lesson learned.
God, the 'loving' father,seems an abusive irrational parent.

Any decent parent knows to tell their child why it is being punished. The child may not understand why something merits punishment, but knows that x(wrongdoing)= y(punishment). It's pretty basic.

Someone should tell god, maybe.

Snowy Days

Well, the Cincinnati area has set and/or broken a snow record. We have had 40 days of accumulating snow, according to official records. There's something Biblical in that, isn't there?

In many ways, it's been an apocalyptic winter. Definitely, it's been a record setter, in many ways and in many places. In Washington state, it has ended with a massive mudslide that has wiped out most of a community. They are still looking for the people, combing through homes and digging through slop, and the rain will mingle with the tears as too many are lost or left. I hope the winter is over for them, and I hope they get a miracle or two or twenty.
People have died of cold while inside their homes.
Whiteouts have taken lives on the highways.
Cabin fever has led to murders, assaults, and other insanity.

I hate this long cold winter. This is not the kind of historical time anyone (except maybe meteorologists) wants to live in.

But -- March is ending, and we have the proverbial wisdom of coming in like a lion going out like a lamb. I'm ready for some lamb, how about you?
Little lambs, and green grass, and blue skies with puffy white clouds, and fruit blossoms shedding a different kind of white on the ground.

I'm ready to put the cold and snowy days behind me, and look forward to the warm and colorful days ahead.

If it's really stopped snowing, and there is an end to the killing power of winter 2013-2014.
Too many have died.

Snow Days

There's been a lot in the news -- and in the minds of parents -- about the 'excessive' number of snow days this prolonged snowy cold winter has been responsible for.

It's crazy. All the time and attention that the media and our lawmakers are giving to this consideration.
It's ridiculous.

The whole concept of education paid by the day is ridiculous. Children learn when they are interested, not between 9 and 3 on weekdays. Requiring so many days in a desk/chair is not, never has, and never will force learning.
Can you think of any other business where this is the model of operations?

I don't know the solution -- maybe not have school during January and extend it through June, before it gets hot.
We spend a lot of time teaching to the test (which isn't even a good test of learning) so maybe reaching year-end goals could be part of when to end the school year. Although that might require more real teaching than modern teachers are allowed to do.

Before modern times, school schedules were made at/for the families' convenience. In the agricultural society, school was scheduled around planting/harvesting times. Weather was also a consideration.

Above all else, the consideration was for our children. Too hot, too cold -- they stayed home. Roads unsafe, whether due to ice or floods or winds -- they stayed home.
Their health and safety was the vital deciding factor.

Not how many days they had been sitting in their assigned seat.

This is how we take care of our children?
This is how we "educate" them about what is important?

Now, some places figure their finances based on having so many seats filled for so many days. Nothing else matters in figuring costs and expenses. As well as the costs of schools being closed, and the costs of additional (unnecessary) day care, we can now add in the cost of legislating giving ourselves permission to keep our children home in inclement weather. There are no more important issues before our government. Death Penalty, Drug Wars, Bigotry, Hate Crimes -- our lawmakers are being paid to decide if we are allowed to use common sense in weather matters.
Why?
Because some bean counter says x seats = x dollars, and that's the way it is.
Because some statistician says "1 in 5" or "2 in 12 "or whatever numbers they can make do the tricks that push their platform?

I say, while they are wasting their time and our money over three to five days, why not take a long hard look at the whole 'requirement' system. And, of course, the way we pay for it.

Hints of Spring

It seems the winter may never end.
It will never stop snowing.
Snow will melt and freeze.

But, driving down the roads, one sees the signs of spring.
Not, as you may think, in the clearing, brimming ditches, or the yellowing of the willow limbs.
Nor in the increase in road kill or the presence of predators.

The real clue is in the garbage at the curb.
There are mattresses and couches and pots of desiccated plants.
There are outgrown toddler toys, often with a free sign taped on.
There is an old door there, and a busted window frame across the street. (Wonder if both or either of those homes houses any type of ball player?)
There are paint buckets and piles of tree limbs.

Gliders are being painted and left to dry on porches.
Cushion covers are being washed and cushions are fluffed and filled.
Swings are being rehung  -- or new swingsets  are going up.
Windows sparkle and doors stand ajar as in welcome.

Spring cleaning is a sure sign of spring, as all creatures leave their dens and begin to ramble, sometimes half-blind and half-starved (for what? Light, food, companionship? Does it matter?).
Winter's waste is being cleared away.
Light is being let in.
Life returns to bursting-at-the-seams.

Welcome Spring.
You old slowpoke, you.

"You Cannot Be Turned Down"

You can, however, be refused the payment you think you are investing in.

It's a gamble.

Of course, all insurance is a gamble. That more people will buy and pay in than will (whatever) and need to be paid. This is how insurance companies make money. 

Let us suppose that you need life insurance and can't get it through the usual agencies. Maybe you have a chronic condition which will (sooner rather than later) become terminal. You can't get life insurance, but you know that you -- or your family -- really need for you to have it.

So, you look into this "cannot be turned down" policy.

The commercials sound so good. "Only 9.97 per unit per month. About 35 cents a day."

BUT: a unit is $1,000.00 . 

Even a cremation setup costs around 2500--3000. So, even for an inexpensive service, you need three units per month. (A traditional funeral, done cheaply, runs between 5000 and 7000 .)

The price of your insurance has just trebled. At a minimum.

That leaves little if anything to help your family survive. You may have put yourself more at risk because you are trading in one of your medicines to be able to provide for your family after you have passed. 

The next phase has to do with your life expectancy.

If you die within the first year, your family gets nothing.

If you die before the second year ends, the insurance company, after having used your money for investment and interest profits, will generously payout to your loved ones every penny that you actually paid them. 

Not the number of units you purchased; not the coverage you were buying. Just what you paid for it. 24 months at $30 is $720. 

There are different companies with different time constraints -- one is six months/one year -- but they all do have these limits. Even your more standard policies have terms and restrictions as to what they will pay out, and when and why.

Add in all the paperwork and problems your family will have to deal with, as well. 

Ask yourself if this is truly the best choice you can make for your family.

Ask yourself if you think you will live long enough for them to profit from your investment.

It's a terrible burden to be dying and know you haven't left your family any resource for your final needs. I understand that -- you don't know how well I understand that. 

I just ask that, if you choose to go this route, please understand what you are doing. Please understand what your family will or will not collect. 

The odds are not in your (their) favor.

 

Roaring? Try Growling. Like a Tummy.

I went and got my little ones before the weather turned bad. The plan was to keep them if it seemed necessary, depending on the weather.

At least, that was the grown-ups plan. The little ones had something else in mind!(Not purposely.)

Friday night Warren cried and kicked like his belly hurt. Babies do that, and our water is different from theirs at home. No biggie, right. It was even funny when he spit up on me and Hailey while Tracy was holding him. Babies do that, too, after all.

Saturday was a wonderful together day, arguing with Hailey over the computer and the tv, wrassling around with Warren, who  was determined to chase down Tracy everywhere she tried to hide. That kid is really nuts about her. I think it must be the combo of Pappaw and Mommy, but it could be Tracy's childlike playful side.
Anyway, if she's in the house, Warren will track her down!
He also likes to walk under the curtains that are the doorway between the living room and the kitchen. He likes to step up over that little step, too.

Then came Saturday night, and one of the nightmares pf parenting. Hailey's belly started hurting and we couldn't make it stop. We tried warm packs and milk, and sipping diluted alka-seltzer -- that one sip was the only one she took, too. She didn't like the taste at all.
Soon enough the sick came out of her, and she immediately started wailing that she couldn't go to school with that brown stuff coming out! (They had sent a girl home from school Friday when she had the same problem.)
She also needed a shower! She had already had her bath, but Hails doesn't ask for  showers at Mammaws. She can get showers at home.

Poor little girl! I told her it was just a pookie bug and when it all came out she'd be okay.
She told me again that she couldn't go to school.
We were up all night with that pookie bug. I took a plastic pan into the bedroom with her/us, and she managed to use it as needed, crying all the time. I could tell she was really hurting, but any medicine came right back up.
Eventually she went to sleep, more dozing than real sleeping. I was grateful for that, you can believe. She was being pookie in my bed, and worrying herself about it. I told her me and her and the pillows and covers would all wash and to just get the sick out.

It was almost noon when we got up Sunday morning. Hailey was weak and wobbly, but no longer in pain and no longer sick.
When we got Bubby up, he didn't want to play.
ai thought it might just be a dozy day, getting ready for the "Titan" blast of winter.
Well, I hoped that was it.

Futilely, as it turns out.
The pookie bug had him too.
he wanted Mammaw.
he spiked a fever.
So I had to tell his mommy she needed to come and get them. Even put Warren on the phone with her.
Bapbapbap" he kept saying.
He and I had several bapbapbap conversations while he snuggled against me. He thought it was funny when  I'd say "Bap bap?" to his bapping.
Such a loving little bunchkin!

Eventually the sick caught up with him and got all over me.

Eventually (Titan was now upon us) the parents arrived. Of course by that time they were both in recovery mode, silly babies.

Of course it caught up with me too, Thank goodness the babies had gone home, that's what I say. I think Mammaw having the pookie bug would have scared Hailey half to death! Of course she could have helped take care of me. She would have liked that, I think.


But all is well now. She's back to school, he's back to toddling, and I'm back to sitting at the computer.

One more challenge met.

(I'm too old for this.)